Unseen, Unknown
by Alaina
Summary: Chapter 3 now up! Your atypical poor-ickle-leggy-weggy-is-abused story but with a slight twist. Legolas isn't the one being abused.
1. The Hell Begins

He crouched on the floor, praying to the Valar that he would not be found. He curled into a ball on the far side of his bed, dreading the sound of those footsteps. A loose strand of his long blond hair fell over his shoulder. They were so much alike, father and son. The same long blond hair. The same deep blue eyes. The same tall, thin build..  
  
After several long moments, the elf began to relax. He moved himself to a more comfortable position to avoid further aggravating his already sore ribs from the encounter the night before. The elf began to fell slightly foolish. How could he, so highly praised and loved among the people of Mirkwood- his people- be caused so much fear by one lone elf? The elf he looked so similar to, almost like brothers. He rose, choosing to prepare himself for rest though he would not sleep. Then he barely suppressed a whimper as those menacing footsteps he dreaded so much started down the hall.  
  
"Oh, by Eru, please no," the elf gasped, searching desperately for an escape. There was none, he knew. He'd been in this situation far too many times before. He was trapped in his bedroom, which, more often than not, became his own personal hell. The footsteps drew nearer, although they were slow and lacked the usual grace present even in the sound of an elf's footfalls. Alcohol was the cause of this the elf knew. Alcohol would make his demon reckless. The beating would be worse, but he would have a chance at escape. If only he had somewhere to run..  
  
The footsteps were more than halfway down the hall by now. The two elves watching outside the door would not deny him entrance, they had no reason to. They would have helped the elf within, with their lives if necessary, had they known. But how did one explain this terror?  
  
The footsteps had reached his door now. The elf shivered in fear and his blond hair rippled down his back. He could only stand paralyzed before the bed as the door opened, allowing in the light that lined the hall along with his demon.  
  
"Hello, father," came Legolas Thranduilion's cold voice, his outline silhouetted in the doorway as the outside light bathed his cold features. 


	2. Lost Child of Light

Yaay! I finally managed to write a new chapter (along with two new fics and the last chapter of another) on the nine-hour train ride home from my grandparent's in New Brunswick. I'm so very proud. It kind of went insane on me, but it's not my fault!!  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, although I'd like to.  
  
To my reviewers:  
  
Eck: It's a bit longer than the last one. Sorry it it's still not long enough. I'm doing my best!  
  
Megan: There. I updated. Stop harassing me! I love you.  
  
KaladynAmberelf: Don't worry. Leggy doesn't die. Although he does go pretty insane.  
  
And now, for the story:  
  
*****  
  
"Legolas," Thranduil greeted his son, masking his fear. "Please, come in."  
  
"Of course," Legolas agreed, shutting the door quietly behind him. Thranduil closed his eyes and exhaled softly before moving to the other side of the bed.  
  
"What brings you here, my son?" he asked carefully.  
  
"Something has come to my attention," Legolas announced, playing along.  
  
"And what might that be?"  
  
"You left dinner terribly early this evening, father," Legolas answered coldly. "As well as last night. In fact, I have seen very little of you for some time. It would seem you have been avoiding me."  
  
"Do not be ridiculous, Legolas," Thranduil argued. "Why would I avoid my own son?"  
  
"Why indeed, father?" Legolas questioned in a whisper. "Could it be because of this?" Without any warning, he slammed his fist with all his force into his father's stomach. Thranduil stepped back, doubled over and winded, but gave not so much as a hiss of pain.  
  
"Why?" he finally gasped, the only sound he made.  
  
"Why?" Legolas repeated, looking mildly surprised. "Nobody would wish to be ignored by their father." He grabbed Thranduil's arm and twisted it behind his back. He held his father in a breath-cutting grip, crushing his ribs. "You would not like it if I ignored you, now would you, father?" Legolas hissed in Thranduil's ear. When Thranduil didn't answer, he gripped him harder. "Would you?"  
  
"Yes," Thranduil finally gasped in reply. Legolas cast him to the floor. He sat there, breathing heavily. "But that is not what I speak of. Why did you change, why did you let yourself succumb to evil? You are of the Eldar, Legolas. How did you become this monster?"  
  
"How dare you speak to me in such a manner?" Legolas demanded. "Your own son."  
  
"You are not my son," Thranduil answered. With a suppressed cry of rage, Legolas kicked his father in the left temple. "You are not my son," Thranduil repeated weakly, oblivious to the blood running down his face.  
  
"Stop it," Legolas ordered sharply.  
  
"My son was good, both of mind and heart," Thranduil continued. "You are a horrible monster, you bring pain and darkness and evil."  
  
"I am giving you a final warning. Stop!" Legolas ordered, holding up his knife threateningly.  
  
"You are not my son," Thranduil stated with a strength he did not feel as the hilt of the knife came down upon his head and all went black. 


	3. You are Not my Son

I got another chapter up! Hope you enjoy. And hi to tinuviel greenleaf for her review!  
  
His eyes opened slowly as sunlight drifted into the room. Groaning, Thranduil lifted his head and sat up, the memories from the night before flooding back.  
  
'You are not my son.'  
  
The words broke his heart, causing him more pain than any injury his body had sustained. The echo of his voice nearly brought tears to his eyes. It had sounded so cold and uncaring. But it spoke the truth.  
  
'You are not my son.'  
  
As a child, Legolas had been joy in a worldly form. Everything had held delight for him, from the simplest trinket to the most intricate structure. He had been fascinated by everything: the trees, the birds, the sun, the stars, Dangers were unreal to him, stories to scare young elflings. He had laughed for everything and everyone, always carrying a smile. But something had changed.  
  
'You are not my son.'  
  
As he had grown, Legolas had learned that not everything was a game. His stories were, in fact, real and caution was a necessity. But still he carried that smile and would often laugh at nothing. He began to sing, songs about light. Everything was light to Legolas; he was a child of the light.  
  
'You are not my son.'  
  
As his years extended, Legolas began to age in the eternal way elves did. He didn't laugh as often, but sang more. The realization that not all parts of life were sweet and joyous hadn't made his love for life any less. For Legolas, loving and life went hand in hand. With the light.  
  
'You are not my son.'  
  
That was how Thranduil had remembered him when he had left to speak with Elrond about the escape of Gollum. It had been quite some time before he had seen his son again. Even then, it had only been a brief reunion before Legolas had left again to travel. But when he returned, that was when Thranduil had noticed the change. He had known something was wrong, even before Legolas left with Gimli. He hadn't realized it then, but it was his eyes. Those blue eyes, once shining with a light from within, had dulled. They had continued to dull when he returned, when his abhorrent treatment of his father began. Day by day they had grown fainter until the light was no longer distinguishable.  
  
'You are not my son.'  
  
Thranduil rose to his feet, trying to ignore the pain laced with every movement. Those words echoed through his mind continually, bitterly. What pain they had caused. Yet they had seemed to hold more effect on Legolas than anything had in a long while. Could he have felt the pain as well?  
  
'You are not my son.'  
  
Thranduil sighed. He had known the risks he was taking at the time. But he hadn't cared then, and he didn't care now. He had lost his son. 


End file.
